Two Halves of the Same Whole
by StarKatt427
Summary: After a near-death encounter four months earlier, Peter decides it's time he show his brother just what he means to him: Everything.


**********Disclaimer********: I do not own anything in the world of Narnia****; everything belongs to the wonderful C. S. Lewis.**

**************A/N: Happy New Year! To start of 2014, I thought I'd post a Narnia story I've had written for a while (nearly two years, in fact). I've been waiting on this because I have a multi-chapter fic in mind that would serve as a sort of prequel to this one, but seeing as that's not coming along right now, I decided I would go on and publish this; I'm still going to work on the other story, and I'll hopefully have it out at some unknown point.  
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**************Fluff, how I love you. Especially brotherly fluff, and it comes in an abundance here, so prepare yourself. I just had so much fun writing this, and I hope you'll have as much fun reading it! Certain names and places are of my own creation, specifically a certain island I mention that might not have very much to do with this story but would play an integral part of the prequel.**

**************As always, feel free to leave feedback and let me know if you find any grammatical mistakes so that I can fix them.**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

Peter stalked about his chambers, eyes flitting over every little thing and yet seeing nothing, fingers curled tenderly around the object he cradled in his right hand. He'd been planning this for over a month now, though with all the duties he held as High King, it had taken longer than he would have liked to send Rubrum and Velox out to retrieve the item he had requested while on a short tour of the north. Adding in the time the craftsmen Dwarves required to make it, plus the two-day trip to procure it _and _another two days back to Cair Paravel, Peter had been waiting nearly four weeks. He had intended to fetch it himself; everything had been set, Peter at peace in the knowledge that Narnia would be well taken care of by his three siblings when he set out, his story being that he meant to call on a old friend (which wasn't a lie but was not entirely true either, seeing as he _had _meant to pay the good Wolverine a visit before returning home, but he did not mention the true reason for his journey north). But more serious matters, matters that required the authority of Narnia's High King, had arose at the castle, and so he'd sent the trusted Red Dwarf and Cheetah in his stead. The wait had made him antsy, which wasn't a very common occurrence as Peter had long since learned to maintain his composure in most every situation, but when the two finally arrived back from the Northern Mines, he forgot his impatience. They had come straight to his private study, just as Peter had instructed, going unnoticed by his brother or sisters and bringing the item wrapped in a clean linen.

That had been less than half an hour ago, and once the treasure was presented to him, Peter had sent Velox with instructions to find Edmund and send him up to his room, thanking both the Cat and Rubrum for all they had done. Now, the gift securely in hand, the young king waited.

He just couldn't get still. Wearing the carpets and scuffing the floors, he paced over every inch of his room, the result of edginess brought out by none other than his brother; only Edmund could make him such a nervous wreck, whether in good times or bad.

Pausing for a moment at the window, he caught his reflection: face peculiarly tense but traced through with excitement, left cheek drawn in just slightly where he bit the inside of it and hair tousled from constantly grabbing at handfuls, a nervous habit. He shook his head in an attempt to straighten his untidy bangs, hoping his restless energy wouldn't bee too obvious to Edmund; Edmund, who missed nothing and saw through his every pretense and never judged him for his flaws, who was well aware that something important had been on Peter's mind for the last several weeks.

Peter sighed, closing his eyes and sending a silent prayer to Aslan to keep him from losing his wits and making an absolute fool of himself.

* * *

It seemed like an eternity before he heard a light knock against the aged wood door, yet it couldn't have been any longer than ten minutes, and though he had thus far kept calm by lightly tracing over the metal in his hand, his fingers now clutched it with anticipation. Another knock, followed by a soft call of, "Pete?"

He couldn't respond.

"Peter, you in there?"

Inhaling deeply, Peter answered, "Yes."

The scrape of wood against stone had Peter turning from the window to watch as his brother slipped into the room, shutting the door softly behind him and meeting the older king's gaze with curious eyes, black hair even more unkempt than usual. Motioning back to the door with his head, Edmund said, "Velox found me outside while I was helping Lu plant her new herbs, said you had sent for me. Sounded like it was important."

Peter had been trying to decide on what he would say once Edmund was finally before him; it had to be casual yet still sufficient if he was to get his point across, and he had just nearly decided on how to begin when Edmund knocked. Now, however, with his brother watching him, waiting, he could only smile, all the words he had rehearsed slipping away like water through a sieve.

Edmund, brows furrowing over slightly cautious eyes, stepped forward. "Peter?"

With the sudden timidity that came crawling up his throat, reticence of another time that hadn't affected him for at least a year, all Peter could do was smile crookedly. "Hi."

Edmund's eyebrows lifted, as did his mouth in an amused smile. "Hi yourself."

"Thank you for coming."

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, clearly puzzled, but Peter wasn't sure how to answer; he knew Edmund would never refuse a request from him, both out of love and loyalty, yet it felt better to thank him all the same.

"I…uh…" Why was he so _flustered_?

Edmund came closer, hands slightly outstretched toward him and brown eyes gazing at him searchingly. "Are you alright?"

Aslan, he just wanted to _hug _him.

Ignoring the way his hand practically ached to reach out and touch the dark haired teenager, Peter smiled once more at the emotions flashing in his brother's eyes, through the tenor of his voice. "I'm perfectly fine."

Edmund looked dubious for a moment, though Peter saw he could detect no lie in his face or voice. "You're positive?"

"Promise."

Some of the gravity seeped out of Edmund's features, though the interest did not. "Alright. Then what's so important? Nothing's wrong, I presume?"

Peter looked away as unwanted heat crept across the bridge of his nose, fingers brushing reassuringly over the object he held. "Actually, everything's good. Great, even. At least, for me…" He trailed off when he realized he was starting to babble, glancing back up with only the slightest bit of awkwardness. In the five years since being crowned High King, Peter had become well adept at the art of speech giving, at finding inspiration in the Great Lion and allowing the words he felt compelled to say flow straight from his heart, so he was confounded as to why addressing Edmund, the one person save Aslan he felt most comfortable with, was giving him such fits.

Slight irritation flashed in the smirk that touched Edmund's lips, most likely due to the older boy's lack of candor. "Would you please stop acting so mysterious and tell me whatever it is already?" he asked, crossing his arms loosely.

Slowly, after a moment's thought, Peter stepped forward until he was only a few paces in front of his brother, a steady heat trickling throughout his chest as he did so. The metal, though not particularly heavy, felt weighty where he held it, and yet it was not uncomfortable.

"Peter?" Edmund repeated in the same apprehensive tone and no longer smiling, body gone still.

With a downward glance, Peter smiled at him, unable to help it when he saw the unrestrained care and brief flashes of devotion scorching through Edmund's eyes. "Come here," he said softly, a gentle command. "Please."

Without question, Edmund did so, so close now that Peter could lift his hand and rest it directly over his brother's heart if he wished to, could almost feel the breath leaving his lungs as he exhaled. Just as in battle, his senses felt heightened at the proximity, a keenness he shared with no other flooding over him, a security he cherished above nearly all else.

Edmund's attention fell to his right hand, head cocking to the side as he tried to see what Peter held. "What have you got there?"

Instead of answering, Peter reached out with his other hand and gently touched it to Edmund's wrist, pulling at him; he said nothing, even as he tugged his little brother once more so that he would follow, and when Edmund complied, he led the young king back so that they were standing at the foot of the large bed. "Sit."

"Pete—"

"Please," he added, tightening the hold he had on his brother's wrist, pressing his thumb against the thumping pulse there.

With a noticeable tightening of lips, Edmund obeyed, sinking down onto the scarlet coverlet. "I surmise that this doesn't have anything to due with the well being of the kingdom," he observed.

"No, not really. But it's important still."

His brother smiled fleetingly. "I can tell. This must mean a lot to you, otherwise you wouldn't be having such difficulty speaking it. That, and the fact that you're stalling."

Peter was on the verge of arguing, but when he realized that he _was_, in fact,delaying the forthcoming conversation, he sighed, resisting the urge to shove a hand through his hair.

Clearly, his response wasn't what the younger had imagined; he had undoubtedly been waiting for a denial. He touched his hand to Peter's, fingers thin and warm, fresh dirt crusted beneath short nails. "The longer you wait, the more I'll worry. It _isn't _bad news, is it?"

"No."

"Then what?"

As Peter closed his hand over the pendant more firmly, it dug into his palm through the cloth, and he breathed in slowly at Edmund's expectant gaze, wondering how well his brother would take this and hoping it wouldn't turn out to be so emotionally taxing that the words got lost in his own throat. He quickly sat down beside Edmund, pulling one long leg up and letting the other dangle off the bed so that his brother had to turn to look at him. Lifting the hand closed securely over the precious article, Peter held it out between them. "I know you hate gifts," he began, unable to keep himself from grinning when his little brother's nose wrinkled, "but I couldn't resist."

"And what, exactly, did I do to deserve this?"

Peter eyed him meaningfully. "I think you know. Is Avra not enough of a reminder?"

Edmund's breathing abruptly halted, eyes glassing over with not so distant memories of pain and torture and fear, and Peter gripped him reassuringly with his other hand, cursing himself for bringing back the still raw hurt from a time when they had been captured and nearly killed by a band of outlaws on the island of Avra.

Peter could still remember the ropes binding his wrists, cutting into flesh and bruising, bloodying his skin when he'd struggled, tried to fray them against jagged rock. Knuckles against his face, splitting his lip and cracking his jaw, a blade slicing a deep gash over his collarbone and grazing his side; he still woke from these memories in the darkest hours of night, the damage even now fresh on his heart.

But his own pain was nothing compared to what his brother's had left upon him, and it made him seethe with rage when he looked at Edmund's wrists and saw the pale scars left behind by chaffing rope, caught the thin scar just below his right jawbone, remembered his stifled gasps and cut off screams when their captors had felt especially malicious. He remembered being released only to be slaughtered in an unfair battle, both of them too exhausted and unsteady to stand a chance, but Edmund nonetheless coming to his aide when he'd been knocked to the ground and found it too difficult to rise, his brother smacking the death blade away before half collapsing over him in a crouch, eyes livid and defiant and so protective that it had nearly broken Peter's heart when he stated, "You will _not _touch him."

In the end, everything turned out in their favor: the remaining men from their vessel had come just before they had been murdered, quickly disposing of the outlaws and getting Edmund and him back to the safety of the ship, back to a healer who had immediately begun treating their wounds. And the whole while, Peter, though in an weakened stupor, had only been able to focus on the brother who had been prepared to forfeit his life in order to save him.

Peter now watched Edmund swallow, close his eyes, breath out a shallow breath. "It is enough," he whispered, eyelids fluttering open, and in his gaze, Peter saw not vulnerability but fortitude, his spirit made stronger by the injuries he had endured.

He brushed a finger over the still evident marks that circled Edmund's wrist in a subtle band, identical to the ones he himself wore. "Then let me show you just what it meant—what it still means—to me," Peter said, opening his hand and pulling the cloth aside to reveal the treasure he held so sacred.

Peter observed his Just king, watched his reaction, and was rewarded with eyes that went wide, lips parting, and a shaky breath escaping him. Only then did he follow Edmund's gaze and look down.

It was a silver cross, nothing extremely elaborate but far from simple, held by an ordinary chain. Engraved with intricate carvings and markings and ancient runes, words in an archaic language so few remembered, it was beautifully delicate and fiercely resilient, a pendant that told of honor and power. In its center sat a blood ruby, and above the cross was a crown of gold—the High King's crown, three smaller red stones placed in the circlet and topped with elegant leaves and fleur-de-lis.

When it was obvious Edmund was not going to speak (or possibly wasn't able to), Peter took it as his cue to begin. "I requested it for you," he explained. "The silver came from the same Dwarf mine that your crown was made from, and the gold from mine. See the rubies there?" He motioned with his finger to the small, regal gem placed in the heart of the cross, then to the smaller ones. "They're the same as the ones on my crown."

Edward's hand hovered over the cross, and a slender finger lightly traced the deep etchings, runes that held meanings Peter knew his brother was well aware of. After all, they had spent a good portion of an entire month deciphering a set of old tomes found on one of the higher shelves of their largest library, consulting the best scholars and eventually learning some of the words to a language long abandoned. Peter looked at the silver pendant, smiling when his eyes touched the symbol for Protector, an upside down U that curled back around and looped through the middle. There were others, many others, all words he associated with his brother: Strength, Wisdom, Bravery. And then there were the ones that were so especially dear to him: Protector, Trusted, Friend, Sworn Brother. He followed Edmund's pointer finger as it subtly traced a specific marking, and Peter heard the younger's breath stutter as he recognized it, the one that summed all of the others up: the symbol for Everything. After all, Edmund was just that to Peter.

"You helped with the runes," he resumed warmly. "You and I are the only ones who would ever use them, two of the only ones who can even understand them, and I wanted it to be perfect, so…"

By the time Peter's face was hot with a blush and he had finally stopped speaking, he realized that Edmund probably hadn't understood a word he's said in the last several seconds, he'd spoken so quickly. Then again, as he dared to look at the younger boy, he had a feeling that it didn't really matter; Edmund knew, without a doubt, how much thought and effort and love he had put into this gesture.

As his brother still refused to speak, Peter briefly touched his thumb to the side of Edmund's chin, jerking his attention up to him. "I didn't break you, did I?"

Edmund blinked at him with deep eyes, pure amazement and disbelief swelling in them as he carefully held the pendant. He looked like he wanted to reach out and touch Peter almost as badly as the older boy had felt the need to hug him earlier. "Peter…"

"Let me," he offered, sticking a hand out, and Edmund, still too shocked to put up any resistance, laid the necklace in the center of his palm. Peter pushed himself back onto the bed so that he was now cross-legged behind Edmund, looking across the room at the tall mirror that reflected their images as he unclasped the chain and positioned it around his brother's neck, then deftly secured the fastener so that the silver cross rested over the middle of Edmund's breastbone. He let his hands fall to his lap and waited patiently, wanting to see what his brother's reaction would be, if he ever decided to look at him.

Peter watched Edmund's reflection, Narnia's youngest king staring down at the necklace, his fingers touching over smooth metal, over the raised jewels, the carved markings. Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked up and met Peter's gaze in the mirror.

And Peter smiled at what he saw.

Edmund's eyes were large and unblinking and oh so dear, his lips parted on the deep breaths that exited his lungs, and Peter was once again overcome with the urge to throw his arms around this cherished being. His brother swallow once, twice. "You did this…you had this made…for me?" he asked in awed disbelief.

In response, the Magnificent propped his chin on Edmund's shoulder and pressed his chest against the younger's back, blonde head resting against his brother's dark hair. He smiled. "Uh huh."

Edmund's hand twitched, lifting like he was about to reach back and take hold of his brother's sleeve, but then he turned his face so that he was looking directly at Peter, not just his mirror image. Peter watched him close his eyes, thick lashes brushing against his cheeks, then open them, and a hand _did _land on his forearm then, touch light and loving. Edmund's eyes were intense, shinning with wonder, the darkest chocolate. "_Why?_"

Peter nearly rolled his eyes; sometimes, though it was a rare occurrence indeed, his brother could be utterly dense. He finally wrapped his arms around Edmund from behind, holding him securely around the waist, and tilted his head so that he could look at the smaller boy. "Because," he began softly, "you're the only person I would ever have at my back. Because you're my voice of reason, my most trusted confidant, my fellow king, and my brother. Because you're a knight of Aslan." He tightened his arms around Edmund possessively. "Because you are _my _knight."

And it was true; Edmund _was _his knight. Peter had baptized him as such not even four months ago in his private cabin on the way back from Avra.

The younger teenager stared intently into his eyes, so many emotions swirling in his own that Peter was completely stumped as to what his brother was thinking, which did not happen nearly as often as when they were younger. Against his chest, Edmund's back jerked.

And then he smiled, at first small but steadily growing into a wide, beautiful grin that lit his eyes up, a gratefulness there that could not be conveyed with words.

There was a lightening in Peter's chest, a bubbling laugh that rose from the depths of his soul, and he knocked his head against his brother's, knowing that with them, there was no need to say anything.

"You're really amazing, you know that?" Edmund asked quietly, words somewhat thick.

Peter, in response, smiled as he buried his face in his brother's shoulder momentarily. "Only because I have you to straighten me out."

Fingers brushed through his hair, followed by a laugh. "True."

When he lifted his face, Peter gazed at the looking glass, just as his brother was doing, staring at the sight they made: Edmund pulled back against his chest, head titled toward him, one of the younger's hands resting atop Peter's where they remained over his abdomen.

For just a moment, a brief span of time, Peter saw nothing but their dissimilarities, how painfully obvious it was that they looked nothing alike, night and day. His lips were full, Edmund's thin but not inelegant; their eyes were shaped differently, irises contrasting, Edmund's so dark brown that his pupils were not always visible and Peter's as bright and pale as a piece of midday sky; his skin glowed with a tan, though still slightly pale from years of overcast British skies, while Edmund remained white even after having lived under Narnia's glorious young sun for five years; Peter's hair thick and straight flaxen, his brother's a thicket of shaggy black tresses; his shoulders broad and body cording with muscles, Edmund long legged and lean, slender but still filled with strength.

Sometimes, when Peter saw Edmund purse his lips with an annoyance so similar to Susan or grin that playful pull of lips identical to Lucy's, he wondered why it was that his little brother and him looked so very little alike.

But then he would remember that just because they were opposites physically, it didn't change the fact that they were brothers by blood and heart and soul, and he would remember that they were each other's strength. Whether Edmund knew it or not, he served as a crucial roll in Peter's existence, a part of his very being that he was not himself without, his brother's knack for sarcasm and wit able to pull Peter from his occasional dismal moods and call him to his senses, his humor and ability to unknowingly give comfort endearing, the sight of his eyes alive with fire and grin more brilliant than a comet enough to make Peter's heart clench. And Peter could see it in Edmund's actions, hear it in his words, that this was not one-sided, did not apply to him alone; Edmund needed him just as much.

Edmund was always guarding Peter's back, Peter protecting his brother from anything he could not see; in battle, and in life, they completed one another.

That was why Peter knew they were brothers, and he loved Edmund in a special way that would forever be exclusive to him.

As if he had been thinking along the same line of thought, the brunette smiled softly, more than a bit bashful, and after a moment's contemplation, leaned against Peter's chest to worm his way against him so that his face was buried in the elder's neck.

A fond, pleased smile curled Peter's mouth, and he laughed, pressing his lips to Edmund's hair as he spoke. "You know," he began softly, "you're rather adorable when embarrassed."

His brother responded by burrowing in deeper, though Peter deduced that Edmund was blushing all the way up to his ears. "Not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be."

"Peter, _please_, don't get all sappy."

He smirked, drawing Edmund closer. "I think it is _me _who should be worried about _you_," he said, referring to the fact that his brother was actually nuzzled against him.

"I'm alright," Edmund murmured, pulling away to look at the elder king. But his cheeks were still flushed—now with both mild discomfiture and delight—and his eyes held an over bright sheen to them, one that made Peter's heart sing.

The High King lifted an eyebrow. "You're sure?" he asked with mock skepticism, lifting a hand to brush it along the subtle blush warming his little brother's cheeks.

Edmund snorted, shoving lightly at the older boy's shoulder. "I'm pretty certain."

"Good." And without any indication and knowing just how his brother would respond, Peter leaned in a pressed a warm, solid kiss to the knight's heated cheek.

As soon as his lips left Edmund's fair skin, the younger king pulled back, nearly dislodging himself from Peter's arms and thus toppling off the bed, but Peter managed to regain his hold just before he fell over backwards. The Just's face, stained by a light blush only moments before, was now flushed a livid shade of red, eyes round and incredulous as he gawked at him with something that was too demonstrative to be true anger but was still appalled nonetheless. "_Peter!_"

"What?"

"_What?_" he stuttered, frowning deeply. "Well, _that!_"

"I can't help it," Peter laughed, not in the least bit sorry.

"I'm sure," Edmund retorted sarcastically, pushing the base of his hand against the cheek Peter had just kissed.

Peter felt his smile grow into something inquisitive, just the slightest bit unsure, as he watched his brother. "Is it so bad to have me this way?"

Edmund blinked, eyes narrowing with confusion and then filling with surprise, but he turned away before Peter could tell what he was thinking. "…no, honestly. It's not. But…why do you have to be so blasted affectionate?" he asked as he looked back to the older king, and Peter saw something less harsh about his countenance now. "Aslan, Peter, you're eighteen!"

"So?"

"_So_," Edmund drawled out, "don't you think it's about time you started acting like it?"

With a deep chuckle, he released Edmund where he held him around the waist and slipped his arms around the fifteen-year-old's neck, grinning rakishly. "Are you sure you'd still want me around then? You yourself are a bit affectionate, unless you've forgotten."

Edmund scowled. "That's different."

"How so?"

"Um…"

Peter leered at him, pulling one arm back and leaving the other to wrap around his shoulder loosely. "Exactly."

Edmund closed his eyes, but almost all signs of exasperation were gone, and Peter could see that he was trying to fight a smile. "Fine. I am man enough to admit defeat, and you have me beat." When his eyes reopened, they glittered mischievously, the sudden grin he flashed quite confident. "For now."

With a laugh, Peter ruffled his brother's hair. "We shall see. How about a sparring match to determine just who the better man is?"

Edmund cocked a dark brow, something sparkling in the depths of his eyes. "I accept. This will give me a chance to whip you."

"I look forward to seeing you attempt it."

"Attempt my foot," Edmund muttered, sliding out from under Peter's arm, and the older boy smiled at him, enjoying the challenge. He looked down to the pendant resting on his brother's chest and touched his fingers to the cool metal.

"I'll meet you outside," he said, beginning to slide off the bed and stand.

A hand latched onto his sleeve, stilling his every action, and he looked back to see Edmund's dark hair, his face hidden. Something warm expanded in his chest at the sight. "Yes?"

The hand tightened, and Edmund looked up, a sweet smile on his lips that Peter rarely saw as of late; it made him remember times when his brother was still a young child, long before he became Edmund the Just, long before Narnia or boarding school, and it nearly made his breath catch at the tender appreciation he saw. With his other hand, the younger lifted the medallion. "Thank you for this," he said, smile turning lopsided, unable to quite feel self-conscious. "I…I really love it."

Leaning down, Peter placed his hands on either of Edmund's wiry shoulders, then pressed his forehead to his brother's hair and bowed his head. "Thank you for being you, for otherwise, I would be utterly lost."

* * *

Late that night, having fallen into a deep slumber brought on by hours of sparring, Peter woke to the dipping of the mattress, the movement of a lithe body sliding in beside his. He smiled drowsily. "Who's being affectionate now?"

"Shut up," Edmund muttered, curling up against Peter's back. "I couldn't sleep, is all."

"Yeah. Sure."

"You know you don't mind."

"Not in the slightest. But you _are _fifteen," he said teasingly, turning onto his other side so that he was facing his brother, the younger's eyes black in the darkness. "Don't you think it's about time you started acting like it?"

Edmund, in response, grinned tiredly, then latched hold of Peter's night tunic and pulled himself closer, twisting his cold feet with Peter's warm ones and making the older cringe at the chill of them. "No, I think I'll stay this way a little longer, if that's alright with you."

Peter knew there was no way to stop Edmund from growing up; he did so every day, becoming less of a child and more of a man, and while he watched these changes with pride, it also made him a little sad to see the little boy he loved so dearly fading away. But who Edmund was remained, even as he approached adulthood, and that was what he focused on. So Peter decided he would treasure the time he had left with the little brother who still crept into his room and didn't mind being cosseted, though he faintly wondered if the day would ever come when Edmund would truly refuse his tenderness.

"That sounds wonderful," he admitted, opening his eyes somewhat shyly to meet Edmund's.

And Edmund gave no sign that he understood his brother's wanting except for the soft little smile he offered before burying his face in the older teenager's warm neck. "Alright then."

Peter closed his eyes, resting his head against Edmund's. "Alright then."


End file.
